


birds of a feather flock together

by bunshima



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Gen, Gore, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-09 12:55:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14716466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunshima/pseuds/bunshima
Summary: "Are you out of your mind?!", the primarch hisses, "Did you take them from the lab? Do you know what will happen when Lucilius finds out?" Immediately he thinks of the worst possible scenarios. A shiver chases down his spine as he can already feel the sharp pricks of countless needles. "You have to put them back right now or it won't end well for the both of us.""Lucilius allowed it.", Azazel retorts, basking in the pride of getting spoken permission with his head held high. However, his demeanor takes a sharp turn for the worse with his next words, "Defective. Like me. We stick together from now on."(alternatively: the misadventures of sandy and az, chronological)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey guess who can FUCKING write properly again
> 
> disclaimer: no beta, sandalphon pov, LOTS of azazel, consider this like..... a lil collection of stuff that happened in estalucia when everything was kinda shit but not as shit as it was in wmtsb1/2, keep my other two gbf fics in mind when u read this bc they deliver context, theres a surprise guest included that not many of u will know

A few select sunbeams manage to break through the rich canopy of a tree, shining onto Sandalphon, who has claimed the shady spot as his for the time being. His fingers weave into brown feathers as he thoroughly brings order into his plumage that's been ruffled by strong winds. With nothing to do, he occasionally spends time with flight, even at the cost of having his pretty feathers messed with. The primarch isn't a neat freak by any means, but preening is one of the simpler pleasures, especially in groups. However, as busy as he is, he still notices a certain someone approach from the corner of his eye.

It's Azazel.

At once, the entirety of Sandalphon bristles involuntarily. The recollection of getting his arm wrecked is still fresh, and despite knowing that Lucilius has put genetic shackles on him, he cannot help the foreboding feelings that churn his gut. Azazel seems exasperated as he comes near, clutching onto the front of his robes. It seems as if he's carrying something. Without even knowing the specifics, Sandalphon's stomach already harbors bad feelings. Azazel has officially gotten out of quarantine perhaps a week ago, give or take, and he's already hiding things.

"Uh!", he grunts at him; his vocabulary is bad, yes, but this is a whole new tier of primitive communication. He seems excited, and now that he's close, Sandalphon can tell that he's definitely keeping something in his robe. With the natural instinct of a hunter, it's clear that Azazel likes catching critters of all kinds. Within the first hours of his release, he had caught a carbuncle cub alive and let it into Lucilius' office. It was as messy as it sounds.

"What do you have there?", Sandalphon eventually asks with faked curiosity since the angel seemed so excited. This better not get him into anything like last time; his new-found companion seems to attract calamity and bad luck alike. He suspects that it's another carbuncle or maybe even an angel core which Azazel is very skilled at catching (so skilled that Lucilius makes him do it multiple times a day sometimes), but little does he know that no assumptions could've quite prepared him for the truth.

Azazel beams with pride as he parts the front of his robes just a bit and there's two different colored eyes peering at him– a red and a blue one. He's looking into the face of a child of perhaps four years with blonde hair. Azazel is carrying a child with him. They're looking at Sandalphon attentively and seem to be enamored by his wings, straining their neck to take a closer look. This is even worse than the last incident.

"Are you out of your mind?!", the primarch hisses, "Did you take them from the lab? Do you know what will happen when Lucilius finds out?" Immediately he thinks of the worst possible scenarios. They'll both get thrown into tubs of acid and be dissolved alive. Or worse, Lucilius will take the time to dismember the two of them one limb at a time. A shiver chases down his spine as he can already feel the sharp pricks of countless needles. "You have to put them back right now or it won't end well for the both of us."

"Lucilius allowed it.", Azazel retorts, basking in the pride of getting spoken permission with his head held high. However, his demeanor takes a sharp turn for the worse with his next words, speaking as he gestures to the child clinging to his front, "Defective. Like me. We stick together from now on."

Defective? The Astrals like to throw that term around a lot, so much that it has seemingly lost it's weight. Sandalphon himself has heard it used for him. He's driven by emotions, so he is considered 'not suitable for the duty of a primarch'. As entities of neutrality as they watch and govern over the skydom, primarchs require stability– which he doesn't possess. But that's fine. He'd rather be unstable and emotional than unable to express himself freely. Lucifer had created him without the usual mental and genetic bounds that Lucilius loves to apply to his specimens to keep them docile and obedient.

The same thing seems to be the case with Azazel (along with the fact that he is perhaps perfect in physique, yet lacking in mind; you don't need extensive knowledge to kill), except that it was perhaps unintended– but what makes this child in particular defective? They seem healthy to him. In the end, he can't keep his curiosity about them at bay after all, so he starts with something simple.

"Do you have a name?", Sandalphon asks them, but receives no answer. All the child does is look at him with big eyes and he finds himself mimicking their surprised expression.

"Can't hear.", Azazel explains with the few words at his disposal, but the primarch doesn't need more to understand the implications: they're deaf. "Their name is Mugaro. I picked it."

It may sound gruesome and sick, but Sandalphon now has doubts about this child's existence. Lucilius is a very methodical one, even amongst his kin who do nothing all day but exploit the 'lesser' creatures of this realm, so there's likely a good reason that he let them live past their first examination. Azazel seems oblivious to this– or he simply doesn't care. In secret, the primarch wishes he could achieve this kind of blissful ignorance; it'd make living like this bearable.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "–I've been wondering... about what my purpose is." It's what spending each day doing nothing does to you. The first few months were comfortable, but by now there's an unbearable itch in his veins that causes him to be restless, puts intrusive thoughts in his head. "Lucifer has declared me primarch, but I have no duties to fulfill of my own. I don't quite understand why I was put into this world. I... wish to be of use, and not rot away like this."
> 
> "Ah, same problem as I.", Azazel replies with a nod, "Terrifying thought to have no purpose."
> 
> "Then, how are you so calm?" His question is near immediate. There's something bitter lying in his words.
> 
> He envies him greatly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello... its me....
> 
> disclaimer: no proof reading, implied lucisan, idk this feels kinda rough to me but i hope ull like it regardless

The sun burns down upon Sandalphon's back and spread wings. It's summer in the realm, and it really shows. To keep his nape shielded from the strong sunlight, the primarch had put on his hood and he can slowly feel how he steadily gets hotter and hotter. Oh, the things he does for some sunbathing without sunburn.

Not too far away from him sits Azazel whose wings are curled forward, effectively shielding his crossed legs from the scorching light. From between feathers sticks out half a leg, lazily hanging off his thigh. There's no way he'd openly admit it, but Sandalphon would do a lot to switch places with that child right now. He remembers it well– during his childhood (if you can even call it that), the primarch had a few caretakers or angels that would sometimes take on the duty of being such who would cradle him in their lap the same way. Sometimes he catches himself craving that sense of safety, even now, as a young adult.

Sandalphon has been staring at Azazel for at least a minute while deep in thought, and it seems that he has finally been noticed when the angel gives him a little wave and pats onto a spot in the grass beside him. There's only a mere moment of hesitation, because how could he refuse that offer? Perhaps he would've hesitated longer out of pride if he wasn't slowly burning into a crisp.

The bigger pair of Azazel's wings spreads further for Sandalphon, while the smaller pair remains curled, covering Mugaro who seems to be sleeping peacefully (oh, how jealous he is of little Mugaro). Considering the angel's size, his four wings all possess a massive span width, offering enough soothing shade for an entire group. Sandalphon can sit upright next to him without the top of his head touching the feathers above.

It's the little things that make him realize that Azazel has the potential to be utterly terrifying and destructive, but– thankfully– chooses not to be. Needless to say, there's a sense of respect stemming from intimidation each time they interact. It's quiet between them, but not in an uncomfortable manner. It's comforting even, to sit in silence like this and meditate for a while. He trusts Azazel in a way and not without reason– it is the fact that he so strongly resembles Lucifer and, despite being a different person, bears certain similarities. Even after his arm has to be downright reconstructed after what happened, there's something that binds them together.

"Uhn.", comes a soft grunt from Azazel.

Sandalphon turns his head, just enough to look at him from the corner of his eye, "What?"

"You look sad.", he states, head tilting.

"Perhaps.", the primarch replies as he leans forward, elbows digging into his thighs and supporting his head with his palms. A loud sigh leaves him. As mentioned, he trusts him, but is it really enough to tell him why he feels troubled and broody? "...You know–", he begins. Yep, he's going to pour his heart out to the one other angel that would seem like he would understand his troubles.

Another sigh follows. Azazel remains quiet.

"–I've been wondering... about what my purpose is." It's what spending each day doing nothing does to you. The first few months were comfortable, but by now there's an unbearable itch in his veins that causes him to be restless, puts intrusive thoughts in his head. "Lucifer has declared me primarch, but I have no duties to fulfill of my own. I don't quite understand why I was put into this world. I... wish to be of use, and not rot away like this."

"Ah, same problem as I.", Azazel replies with a nod, "Terrifying thought to have no purpose."

"Then, how are you so calm?" His question is near immediate. There's something bitter lying in his words.

He envies him greatly.

For a moment, Azazel seems to ponder on that question, but then he shrugs, "I live for myself." This is perhaps the most coherent thing he's ever heard him say. Has he been practicing? If so, his progress is quite amazing. "And for Mugaro.", he adds, "They need guidance. I don't trust Lucilius."

Sandalphon can't keep an amused huff from leaving his throat. He definitely is smarter than Lucilius says he is. However, the other's words do not help him one bit. In fact, it's like pouring grease onto a fire. "I wish it was that easy for me.", Sandalphon bites back, teeth gritting, "I was given nothing by the Astrals. No calling, no perspective. I can't just live for myself." He almost added that it's not even worth living for himself (he, who has no purpose and therefore no value), but some things are best left unsaid.

"Live for Lucifer, then."

"Wh-why would I–", the primarch splutters in surprise, failing horribly at trying to hide the fact that he's very, very flustered by this suggestion. An ever so slight hint of red is brought onto his features and he pulls his hood down further, so that his companion may no longer see his face.

"He tells me about you. A lot.", Azazel scoffs in reply, obviously miffed and maybe even offended by this absolutely awful attempt to fool him. "Not in a way a superior should." Oh fuck. What in high heavens has he told him?! "You make him happy. Lucifer is bad at expressing himself, is all."

Azazel's honest words have Sandalphon curled up in his spot and he only gets smaller and smaller with every additional word. His hands cover his face by now, thighs pressed flush to his front. Angels are not made for personal affairs like this. The Astrals even have a strict policy on anything relating them, but in spite of that, there's something between Lucifer and Sandalphon that could be considered a relationship– of the romantic type. They meet in secret, which has always put a strain on the supreme primarch... which would explain why he opened up to Azazel of all people. He's independent and stands outside the ranks– and doesn't seem to give two shits about authority or ranks in general.

"... Why are you telling me this?"

"Lucifer talks too much. Sometimes too little. Completely misses the point when it counts.", Azazel huffs and his feathers bristle, "You deserve to know that... That..." For a moment he seems to struggle with the words on his tongue for reasons unclear. "... He needs you."

He needs him. Lucifer needs Sandalphon. His heart skips a beat at that, goes straight to hammering against his sternum as if trying to breach through with all it's might. His hand slips under his hood to grab a fist full of hair because it might be the one thing that keeps him from loudly proclaiming his love for Lucifer to the high heavens, so that the entire skydom may hear it. Heat gathers in his face, dying it in a deep shade of red. It's hard to describe how he feels. Maybe Lucilius was right in creating angels without strong emotions after all– he can feel his own core pulse frantically at his middle, unstable as ever, as if it was struggling against his physical confines.

“Don't be ridiculous.” It's a last futile attempt to uphold his prideful image to Azazel, whom he possibly never had an image to to begin with.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tied net, filled with ripe fruit, is dropped onto the nearest stretch of grass. The primarch jumps back in surprise, clutching onto the child in his arms as if to shield them from possible impact. The beating of mighty wings causes him to gaze up anew, just in time to see Azazel take a dive and land next to the enormous pile of bright yellow fruit. He knows those well.
> 
> “Have you completely lost it?”, Sandalphon barks at him, “Someone could've gotten hit by that!”
> 
> “You act like I was trying to kill you.”, Azazel retorts in the same tone, still spread wings puffing up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still going strong yall
> 
> disclaimer: no proof reading, special pre-mind fuck belial appearance inside!!!!!

Heels click against the stone path between pure white pillars as Sandalphon takes a little stroll across the research facility. His head is toward the vast skies of  the realm, taking in the breathtaking view. But then, a giant winged shadow zips past the row of columns with such that his hood flies up and dried leaves scatter into the wind. Just when he manages to bring his clothes back into order and put down his hood, the same thing happens anew, this time caused by a group of six or seven children, chatting and bickering loudly. He almost forgot. It's that day of the week where flight lessons for the new ones take place.

Their caretaker is no other than a primarch named Belial– a loud and boisterous angel, who has his heart at the right spot... according to Lucifer, at least. Sandalphon thinks he's quite outgoing and open for someone who governs over the cunning streak in all creatures; Belial has his work cut out for him, that much is certain. Sandalphon's step slows and he decides to watch the group for a while.

The little ones do a very good job at chasing after Belial with sharp turns, bursting with so much energy that Sandalphon can sense them as if they stood next to him. The primarch is encouraging them loudly for their brave maneuvers, his voice bellowing across the complex, joined by laughter and shrieking from the fledglings. This can hardly be called ‘flight lessons’, but learning by doing and through games is quite effective, especially with young angels who have a short attention span and a strong play instinct.

A tug on his sleeve. Sandalphon looks down and gazes upon a familiar face: Mugaro. They beam from ear to ear, clearly happy to see him. Both of their small hands clutch onto the fabric of his sleeve as they give him an intent look, bouncing in their spot.

At first, he wants to speak to them, even opens his mouth to do so, but then soon remembers the fact they cannot hear him. For now, he tilts his head, hoping that it'll be enough for them to understand. They raise their hands reaching for him, seemingly in response to his wordless inquiry. Ah, do they want him to lift them? Sandalphon looks around, trying to find any trace of Azazel– but nothing. He's nowhere to be found. Well, in that case… he should watch over them for the time being. At least as long as Azazel isn't here to do that. Carefully he lifts Mugaro and they latch onto his front right away, clinging to him. Their small wings flutter in delight as they bury their face in the crook of his neck and nuzzle him carefully, uttering what might be the choppiest purr he's ever heard from someone. How cute. They're a little angel in the truest sense.

Sandalphon can't stop himself from gently rocking them as he watches the other little ones zip across the clear blue sky, with Belial watching over them protectively. His own short childhood was nothing like this. The vague recollection of the things he endured (and still has to endure) as Lucilius’ own personal lab rat cause him to hold onto Mugaro tighter. In Estalucia, there's seemingly no hope for this child– or even the group Belial tends to–  to grow up peacefully. Everything has a reason. They have a purpose. Should it be the case that they cannot fulfill this purpose, there will be no mercy, no matter how young they may be. That's how things are.

Thankfully, he doesn't get to continue pondering on such depressing matters. Loud huffing from Mugaro follows, hot breath hitting his ear. Their arm raises; they're pointing at something in the sky.

“What's up?”, Sandalphon asks out of habit and turns to look.

A tied net, filled with ripe fruit, is dropped onto the nearest stretch of grass. The primarch jumps back in surprise, clutching onto the child in his arms as if to shield them from possible impact. The beating of mighty wings causes him to gaze up anew, just in time to see Azazel take a dive and land next to the enormous pile of bright yellow fruit. He knows those well.

“Have you completely lost it?”, Sandalphon barks at him, “Someone could've gotten hit by that!”

“You act like I was trying to kill you.”, Azazel retorts in the same tone, still spread wings puffing up.

Taken aback by the coherence that Azazel now boasts, Sandalphon can only  scoff at him. Perhaps he should've started getting mad at him back when he was still quarantined– at least he couldn't reply properly then. Despite mild hostilities, the primarch steps close nonetheless to inspect the haul the angel has brought with him. Indeed, he knows those fruit very well. They're from Lucilius’ beloved garden. He seems to love playing with fire, that much is certain. As much as he tries not to, Sandalphon can't keep himself from panicking internally.

“... Does Lucilius know that you were in his garden?”, he asks with hesitation, a soft tremor shaking his voice.

“No.”, Azazel shrugs, all nonchalant as if it were no big deal, “I don't like seeing them go to waste like this. If Lucilius wants to look at fruit, then he should paint them so that it may last.”

“Don't speak so loudly! The walls have ears.”

“We are _outside.”_

For a moment, Sandalphon is dumbfounded. Huh. Yeah. Can't argue with that. He has to shake his head to get himself back into the here and now, “A-anyway, what are you going to do with all that?” He really liked the Azazel with limited vocabulary better for some reason he cannot put his finger on.

However, his question is left unanswered, because Azazel has turned to face the vast blue, bringing both hands to his mouth. A sharp whistle rings in Sandalphon's ears. At once, the group of young angels changes its course and flocks to Azazel, some of them falling as they land, and even Belial comes flying like he won't get his share if he doesn't hurry up. Greedy little hands tear at the net until it rips and the fledglings begin to feast upon the gifts brought by Azazel, all seven of them purring and chirping in utter delight.

“Oi, where are your manners?”, Belial chides half-hearted while he tries to find his way past the eating children who effectively block his path to the desired fruit.

Both Sandalphon and Azazel chortle at the sight of this caretaker struggling with his own children who clearly don't want to share, despite there being enough to eat for at least three other groups. Another– this time clearly displeased– huff from Mugaro follows, catching Azazel's attention. The primarch who is still holding them, however, doesn't seem to notice their discontent. Cue yet another one, this time with a little pout. Their little fists ball into his coat, giving their caretaker an intent look.

“They want to be put down, Sandalphon.”, comes Azazel's observation. There's something firm behind his words and when Sandalphon looks at him he feels as though Azazel is about to strike him down for supposedly mistreating the child.

“Ah–”, is all he can utter before he sets them down and they quickly push themselves between the other angels.

The small group has settled around the pile as they eat with haste, and the remaining two end up joining them. Sandalphon manages to grab an especially big fruit, so big that the tips of his fingers don't touch as he has it in his grip. For a moment, he stares at it, contemplating if he should really eat it. Even like this, it's scent is very fragrant and prominent, unlike anything he's eaten before. Involuntarily, he licks his lips in anticipation. His eyes squeeze shut as if fearing that Lucilius would strike him right away once he had tasted one of his precious fruits. His teeth dig in. It’s so incredibly sweet that saliva gathers in his mouth right away and his stomach growls at the prospect at receiving a treat such as this. The first bite is taken and soon, the primarch finds himself wolfing down, just like the kids.

“Doesh Mashter Lushiliush not mind thish?”, asks Belial eventually, with a mouth full of rich fruit. Even his cheeks are full to the brim, making him seem like he's trying to store some for the upcoming winter.

“Let that be my concern.”, Azazel replies, “Should something not be to his liking, then I will take full responsibility.”

Cue a short pause.

“Anyhow, I cannot thank you enough.”, Belial says once the contents of his mouth have been swallowed, his head lowered in a quick bow, “The rations the little ones are given aren't nearly enough for their developing bodies. I have noticed that they're in a way better mood since you've started gathering food for them.”

“It's the least I could do for them.”, the angel states, a subtle smile stretching over his face as one of the younger fledglings decides to crawl into his lap, clearly tired after eating more than they should have. Gently, he ruffles their silvery hair to which they respond with the softest of purrs. Despite his intimidating size and giant talons, Azazel seems to have a certain type of air around him. He's generally calm and laid back; the children sense that. It's contagious too, apparently.

It's little moments like these that make Sandalphon forget the horrors that take place behind closed doors. Lucilius hadn't given them a sense for this, but one could consider this a small family of its own. It feels… good. Fulfilling. Warmth gathers at his midst and a small smile even graces his features. Everyone is rather busy with themselves so they don't notice that the usually rather grumpy primarch now seems content for once. If only Lucifer could be here to experience it too– this feeling of warmth and belonging. Sandalphon would love to share it with him. It would do him good.

“What is the meaning of this?”

The entire group startles. At once, the little ones– including Mugaro– crawl underneath Belial's wings, and even the one sitting in Azazel's lap jumps forth to do the same. Sandalphon doesn't dare to turn around. He knows which familiar face awaits him. Belial seems to have difficulties with swallowing a thick lump that had built in his throat right away, his skin paling till he is as white as a sheet. It's dead quiet, save for the wind rushing past. Lucilius’ expression bears no visible emotion, which only makes this worse. Sandalphon is glad that his back is turned to him– he'd utterly crumble under the Astral's unforgiving stare.

“Answer me, Belial.”, Lucilius presses forth between clenched teeth.

“I-I–” The primarch is cut off.

“I've taken the freedom of feeding your flock with fruit from your tree.”, Azazel speaks up, self-assured and without looking at Lucilius. “I thought they were looking a little thin.” His head turns, just enough so he can shoot the Astral a glance from the corner of his eye. “Wouldn't you say so, too?”

The atmosphere is thick enough to cut it with a blade. The feathers of Belial's wings quiver because the children beneath are shaking with all the might their small bodies can muster. Sandalphon can feel cold sweat run down his back as his mouth falls open ever so slightly and his eyes widened. Is he really talking back to him? The thought on its own makes him feel lightheaded at the sheer prospect of the punishments that may await those who dare to oppose Lucilius. Their eye contact lasts for an eternity. Vibrant purple meets cold blue. Azazel's tail thumps onto the grass in a dull rhythm.

And then, the Astral smiles and it's possibly the most terrifying display one could witness. It's cold, a smile where only the corners of his mouth curl upward while his eyes keep their unrelenting, unforgiving stare. Sandalphon can sense the anger and disdain emanate from the researcher and it's so much that it chases multiple shivers down his spine, but Azazel doesn't budge.

“How considerate of you, Azazel.”, he muses in a honey sweet tone of voice, hands folding behind his back.

“Would you like to taste one of your fruit?” An abrupt change of subject. “I think they would be to your liking, Lucilius.”

The entire exchange is so tense and stiff. Sandalphon can see Belial flinch subtly with every word, gaze lowered to the ground in the hope that he will be spared of the Astral's wrath. This is unbearable. Everyone involved seems to keep their head lowered, in fear that Lucilius might just lop it off with the clean cut of a blade. Everyone, except Azazel. Sandalphon can't feel a single bit of fear coming from him– no, there's hostility boiling at the angel's core. He must've lost his mind somewhere along the way.

There's no reply from Lucilius, but it seems that he had given a positive response non-verbally, since Azazel reaches for a plump fruit from the pile and tosses it at the other over his shoulder. The Astral catches it, quick reflexes at work. Again, silence follows– till there's loud, blood curdling crunching and the sound of liquid hitting the ground. Out of morbid curiosity, the primarch turns his head to look. Juice and bits of fruit run down Lucilius’ forearm. He has crushed it in his hand with sheer terrifying strength. His physique may be on the scrawnier side, but one shouldn't underestimate him as it seems. You learn something new everyday, Sandalphon thinks, and makes mental note of the fact that engaging in a fist fight with Lucilius now seems like an extremely unfavorable situation.

“Do not set foot into my garden again, Azazel.”, the Astral presses forth, tone firm, “Those who steal from Eden may lose their sticky fingers someday. Keep that in mind the next time you feel tempted by beastly urges.”

Those are his last words he speaks before leaving the frightened gathering to themselves.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And today is… also the day Lucifer and the greater primarchs manifest to stay for a while.”, Sandalphon adds with something sheepish in his tone. He has been missing him greatly, but his patience shall be rewarded tonight. A hand clutches onto the front of his robes at his stomach. There's butterflies. 
> 
> Azazel audibly sputters at his words, clearly surprised. “Lucifer?”
> 
> “Mhm.”, the primarch hums in reply, staring down upon the horizon spread wide before them. There's a short pause before he goes on, “Speaking of which, I have… a somewhat selfish favor to ask of you, Azazel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof this one has lots of stuff that i pulled outta my ass but i hope ull like it either way
> 
> disclaimer: no beta, check the relationship tag yall know what that means

The brisk evening wind rushes past with a ghostly howl. Loud rustling of leaves from the nearby trees joins the lively talks and murmurs of Astral folk as they inspect the research and testing grounds with great interest. It's the common folk. Clearly, it has to be a special day for Lucilius to open his domain to the public and indeed, it is. Lanterns of different colors adorn the scenery, flickering with the breeze. From far, one can hear the festivities seemingly reach their peak. Sandalphon's legs swing idly as he sits at the edge of the laboratory’s roof, away from the masses. In fact, the few angels that have to slowly waste away as guardians of the research facilities have claimed the higher positions as their own. Some sit perched on pillars, some in the larger trees– and all avoid Sandalphon. Though, he doesn't mind. Serenity had settled at his midriff since he had chosen this nice little spot with the best view of the horizon, mixing with the smallest trace of excitement at his gut. Today is a special day, indeed.

Cue the flapping of wings from above. Sandalphon doesn't check to see who it may be, because he has already memorized the way Azazel paces himself.

“I see Lucilius has left you in one piece.”, Sandalphon observes once Azazel has landed safely, not turning to look at him.

In response, he gets a coarse scoff, “Yes, but at what cost, I ask myself. It took him a full three hours to show off Mugaro and I to all of his friends.”

Speaking of which, Sandalphon can feel a light tug at his sleeve. His head turns to look at little Mugaro– who is no longer as little as they were a few weeks ago. Angels grow fast, thanks to Lucilius’ years worth of genetics homework. They've gained the physique of an rather fit fifteen-year-old over the course of weeks, when they were likely flushed out of their glass womb at physical age four. It is macabre in a way, especially to someone who weeks are mere minutes to. The young angels grow up so fast– in quite the literal sense.

Mugaro gives him a big smile, going from ear to ear, “San– da– fonn–”

Their attempt to say his name has a subtle smile pull at the corners of his lips, “You've taught them well. They keep getting better.”, Sandalphon says to Azazel, who settles onto the ledge next to them, while he ruffles Mugaro's hair. How he managed to teach a deaf child how to speak will remain a mystery to him, but that doesn't make it any less remarkable.

Azazel's chest swells with pride, and he can sense it by simply sitting next to him. They've made a similar amount of progress in rather short time spans– well, like father, like child… and they're not even actually related.

“Anyway, Sandalphon, I have a question.”, Azazel states, clearing his throat and beginning to comb through his feathers idly, “What are the festivities for? I didn't manage to catch on by eavesdropping.”

“Consider it a festival where the research team celebrates their progress– hence why Lucilius was presenting the both of you to his peers. You're his pet project as of late, apparently.” Sandalphon's legs stretch before they keep swinging over the endless abyss.

Just those words are enough to make Azazel's plumage bristle and flutter in discomfort. A feeling he, too, knows well. His gaze holds understanding when he looks at the already pale angel who turned as white as a sheet. Quickly, Sandalphon changes subject, for Azazel's sake.

“– But well, in the more traditional sense, it is a summer festival of sorts.”, Sandalphon continues, “They call it ‘comet tail night’, because we get meteor showers around this time of the year. There's even a superstitious belief that the more meteors one can count in the sky, the better their harvest will be during the rest of the year.” He vaguely remembers his first comet tail night. It all seemed so spectacular to someone who was merely a few hours old, still unable to fully comprehend the happenings. This day is special in many different ways: his birth, the festival– and the day he met Lucifer for the first time. Ah.

“And today is… also the day Lucifer and the greater primarchs manifest to stay for a while.”, Sandalphon adds with something sheepish in his tone. He has been missing him greatly, but his patience shall be rewarded tonight. A hand clutches onto the front of his robes at his stomach. There's butterflies.

Azazel audibly sputters at his words, clearly surprised. “Lucifer?”

“Mhm.”, the primarch hums in reply, staring down upon the horizon spread wide before them. There's a short pause before he goes on, “Speaking of which, I have… a somewhat selfish favor to ask of you, Azazel.”

No response. Sandalphon assumes that he's listening.

“I would like some privacy with him once he has descended. However, this is quite hard, considering that there will be many, many Astrals wanting to speak to him, too.”, Sandalphon says with that sheepish tone again. He keeps his voice low, just in case someone might hear them. “And I'd need you to–”

“You want me to cover for the both of you?”, Azazel cuts him off.

Sandalphon hesitates. There's something different about Azazel's tone (he cannot tell if that's a good or a bad thing). The primarch can feel his middle cave in on itself again. This is embarrassing. Redness finds its way onto his features, burning brightly against pale skin. When he catches a glimpse of Azazel's expression, it only gets worse. A smug demeanor graces his expression, a fang peeking out between lips and digging into the skin. His tail thumps onto the ground idly, the pointed tip curling occasionally. Sandalphon can sense something coming off him, something he can't place.

“Yes.”, Sandalphon eventually responds without looking at Azazel, nodding in addition.

A chuckle follows. “So, you entrust me with making up an excuse for your rendezvous?”

“Shh, shhhh!”, the primarch hisses, a few stray beads of nervous sweat building upon his temples. He forgot how his companion enjoys hearing about personal matter from others, always eager to get his greedy paws on the juicy details. “Don't say that. Who knows who could be listening.” A futile attempt at saving face.

Azazel's fangs are bared at him in a wide, knowing grin. It appears that there's more on his mind, but he chooses not to voice it. “Fine. I shall find a way.”, he says after a moment of silence with another soft chuckle, “But be careful nonetheless. I doubt the Astrals will be thrilled upon finding out that the supreme primarch has a lover.”

Lover, lover, lover. Just the mere mention of that causes his heart to beat with all its might in the confines of his chest. What they're doing is considered sacrilege by their makers, yet they can't seem to be able to bother, putting themselves above senseless taboos. Hearing Azazel address him as Lucifer's lover causes more heat to gather in his face. He finds himself fidgeting, a hand coming to pick at his lips as he covertly covers them to hide the dumb smile that ended up on his face. It's been a long time since he's felt this giddy and not even the fact that Lucifer isn't here yet could take that from him. He misses him oh so dearly, but it doesn't hurt anymore. All there is is pure joy.

An amused huff from Azazel pulls him from his thoughts.

"What?", Sandalphon scoffs, doing his best to sound disgruntled but doing a poor job at that. That dumb, lovestruck grin is still stuck on his features and it will stay that way for a while now. Pride be damned. He doesn't feel like hiding it; Azazel knows him better than Lucifer at this point, so he may let him see his not so stoic side too.

"You need not hide the fact that you're close to jumping about in excitement.", Azazel makes an attempt to reassure. Next to his boundless joy, he now notices something else. An everlasting warmth that lingers at his chest when he's with Azazel. He was once skeptical, but the angel is... a good friend to him. He might even consider Azazel and Mugaro 'family' but is unaware of it, since the lot of them is simply not designed to recognize those sentiments as what they are. "However, don't let Lucilius see you like this, lest he decides that you're too mortal." His tone has changed. It sounds heavier with every additional word. Sadly, he's right.

Mortal. It's not an insult by all means, but the angels and Astrals alike make it seem like one. Yes, he is quite mortal indeed. Sandalphon takes pride in it.

"I won't.", Sandalphon replies as he takes a deep breath and gazes upon the setting sun, lying in wait for the nearing return of his dear Lucifer.

  
**____________________________________**

  
It is dark by now, countless stars glittering across the night sky. And still, Sandalphon waits with the patience of a saint. He made the decision of waiting in Lucifer's and his special spot– a bench beneath a luxuriant pavilion in the public botanic garden of the laboratory archipelago. Colorful lanterns illuminate the paths around the pretty structure and afar Sandalphon can hear the loud chattering of an euphoric (and likely drunk) crowd. Right now, Sandalphon is the only one at the entire garden because all Astrals and angels have gathered for god knows what kind of thing they enjoy. He can only hope that Azazel will keep his word, that no one will come to search for Lucifer.

He sighs as he slumps in his seat, staring at his boots. The cool night air is very refreshing, compared to the heat that reigns throughout the entire day. A light breeze brushes past him. Patiently, the primarch counts the minutes until he can see his loved one again.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Nothing yet.

Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Still no trace of him.

Twenty. Thirty. Forty. Fifty. Sandalphon grows restless, but no, he must be patient– just as Lucifer had taught him to be.

Sixty. Seventy. Seventy-five. Now, he senses something. It's close and has an imposing aura.

From across the garden, he can hear the crunching of gravel beneath shoes. As much as he wants jump up and make a run for it, Sandalphon forces himself to sit still. His fingers comb through his feathers in a fruitless attempt to calm the war waging at his midriff. There's a lot going on inside of him, and it's not a bad feeling at all. His gaze stays averted from the path leading up to the pavilion on purpose. Loose downs and even bigger feathers are sent flying into the wind; he's entering his molting season, meaning he can use some extra attention in the following days.

“Sandalphon.”

His lovely, honey sweet voice reaches Sandalphon, who tries not to raise his head too fast as to avoid seeming overly needy.

Beneath the pavilion’s arch stands Lucifer. He seems calm at first glance, but upon closer inspection the primarch can see all six of his wings doing their most at puffing up, their plumage reminding him of oversized pine cones. When usually time passes so fast for Sandalphon, it now flows at least three times slower. By the time he has gotten up, Lucifer has already taken three steps toward him. They stand before one another, facing. It's quiet, save for the distant celebrations. Neither of them really seem to know how to react.

But eventually, Sandalphon can feel himself be pushed forward by his overwhelming need to welcome the supreme primarch back. He embraces him with little to no hesitation, arms resting around his waist and his face buried in his shoulder. When his loving caress is returned, Sandalphon feels as though he might burn up then and there. Lucifer can feel his heated face through his robes, he's sure of it. Both remain silent for now, quietly enjoying the embrace they share.

The first thing he eventually hears of Lucifer is a soft sniffle as he pulls him closer and nuzzles him gently. “I have returned.”, he coos, as if to reassure Sandalphon– as if Sandalphon had been the one close to tears.

And then, he pulls away to look at Lucifer. His usually so graceful and immaculate demeanor is nowhere to be found, alike his steeled composure. Without pondering much more on it, he reaches out, framing his face with both palms. This little gesture only seems to serve opening the floodgates further, and Sandalphon can feel a single, stray tear run over his fingers. Seeing this much emotion from him is an unusual sight, indeed. As supreme primarch, such mortal coil has no place in his existence– but Lucilius didn't even consider once that one might be able to break past his oh so neatly made restraints. There's a small but persistent voice in the back of Sandalphon’s head, that prides itself with that fact, the fact that he has managed to do so. Lucifer was born and exists out of necessity; everything that doesn't have to do with his calling is foreign to him– or, rather, was. Showing him that there is more to this life, that paying attention to oneself and one’s feelings is not a taboo, was a slow and dragging process, but they have come a long way.

“My apologies–”, the supreme primarch brings forth, a light tremor shaking his voice, “–I don't know what has gotten into me.”

“Don't apologize.”, Sandalphon hums, caressing Lucifer's features lovingly, “It's okay.”

Another sniffle follows, along with a gentle smile. A hand is brought up to rest it atop of Sandalphon's, pressing it further against his cheek. He acknowledges his words, but seems to have lost his own. His heart thumps in his chest with all it has, core seething at his middle with the insane heat of a star.

“Come, sit with me.”, Sandalphon eventually says, taking his hands from Lucifer's face (who obviously doesn't quite agree with the loss of contact, evident in the tiny, yet still audible huff he utters), “I itch to know about your recent sightings, Lucifer.”

He doesn't wait for an answer and instead drags him over to the little stone bench (and Lucifer lets him) where they settle, turned to one another. Their lively chattering shall soon echo through the empty garden as they speak to their hearts’ content. Lucifer has been conducting his own research on the natural flora and fauna in the mortal realm, which he tells Sandalphon about with great vigor– the primarch can't say that he's dying to hear all of it in incredibly vivid detail, but if it makes Lucifer happy, if speaking helps him open up to him further, then he shall gladly listen to his little discoveries. Soon enough, he finds himself no longer talking since the supreme primarch has taken the freedom of dominating the conversation with his excited ramblings.

But that, Sandalphon doesn't mind. Usually, neither of them are individuals of many words, but seeing Lucifer bloom like this is just lovely. Butterflies flutter about in his gut when he takes one of his hands into his lap, idly fidgeting with it as he speaks with almost childish excitement about new critters he has discovered recently.

And the primarch would've continued to listen him ramble away if something hadn't caught his attention.

Faint light from above. He leans over the pavilion’s low banister, just enough to catch a glimpse at the sky. Silver streaks line the night sky, glistening with thousands of pretty stars. Lucifer has fallen silent abruptly, watching the shooting stars light up the sky, one by one. Loud cheering from the gathering is carried to them by the wind and across the archipelago. The festivities have officially reached their peak. Sandalphon feels his hand being gripped tighter, fingers intertwining. A similar sensation presses down on his chest, as if Lucifer has taken a hold of his heart and clings to it with all strength he can muster. This comet tail night feels special; there's so many of them this time around, possibly heralding a year of rich harvests and flourishing. However, there's something else on his mind. Words form on Sandalphon's tongue and he can't keep them to himself.

“The skies seem to celebrate your return, too.”, the primarch muses, a subtle smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Lips are pressed to his knuckles. Each one gets a soft peck from Lucifer, eventually drawing his attention from the sky. This chaste display of affection causes his wings to flutter and puff against his back, struggling to remain neatly folded. “Perhaps they know of our reunion and have decided to make this a night to remember.”, Lucifer hums against his knuckles. His tone, though soft, bears something heavy.

In spite of the joy he clearly feels, Lucifer seems… sad in a way, now that he pays more attention to the little details. He scoots closer to him, still cradling Sandalphon's hand in his lap between both of his.

“Sandalphon–”, he says after pausing, his voice no more than a soft whisper, almost like a little keen.

He doesn't reply, only holds eye contact with him, as to let him know that he's listening without ruining their moment with unnecessary talking. One of Lucifer's hands is brought up to his face. However, he hesitates, simply hovers it over the side of his face. As to help him, Sandalphon tilts his head just a bit, pushing his cheek against the supreme primarch’s palm. Still with great hesitation, Lucifer caresses him as he had done it earlier, carefully mimicking the gentle strokes of his thumb, his fingertips weaving into his hair. It's easy to tell: words seethe upon his tongue.

“I have missed you dearly, Sandalphon.”

It's such a simple gesture but it means the entire skydom to him. Lucifer has confirmed what Azazel had told him months ago, even if indirectly. It's more than enough for him. He understands Lucifer's difficulties, the conflict between the ideals and morals that were planted in his head, and the things he feels. Despite all that, he makes wonderful progress. Again, he decides not to say anything, waits for Lucifer to speak anew, which he does in the end.

“It may seem like a selfish request to ask of you, but–” He looks away for moment, trails off, before he manages to gather his courage. “–could you hold me again? Just… Just for a little while, yes?”

Oh, how could he possibly say no to a query sweet and tender like this one– and from Lucifer, out of all people?

"You needn't ask.", Sandalphon replies, his voice tender– very unlike his usual tone. His arms open for the supreme primarch, for him to rid himself of responsibility for a little while. He's very good at hiding it, but Sandalphon can tell; he's weary. Weary of it all. "Come."

And Lucifer takes him by his word, shuffles to him, and huddles up close, his head buried into Sandalphon's shoulder. Never before has the primarch see him strain to seem smaller like this. The supreme primarch usually carries himself with grace and his head held high, but now his scalp is lowered, wings drooping low as he slowly relaxes. Sandalphon's arms are rested upon his shoulders, wings curling forth to encase Lucifer in them (at least as much as their size lets him do so). Fingers comb through the hair at the back of his head with great care. Sandalphon rests his cheek against his scalp, tense shoulders eventually dropping with a deep exhale.

Then, all falls silent around them. Only the sound of the breeze rushing past could be heard. Even the festival has turned into unnoticeable background noise to them. When usually time passes incredibly quick in Estalucia with months feeling like mere hours, now it appears to have come to a complete halt. If they could stay like this, spend their eternity in such blissful harmony like this, Sandalphon would.

"It's so warm–", Lucifer whispers to himself in awe, enamored and mesmerized alike by the feeling of being cradled like this.

Sandalphon hums softly, gently dragging his fingernails over his nape and feeling goose bumps spread beneath the pads of his fingers. "You've gifted me the ability to convey this warmth in the first place, Lucifer."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucilius clears his throat. “Anyway, we have no time to spare. Come.”
> 
> And that Sandalphon does, trails after him to the back of the entrance hall which ends in a large iron gate. Guards open the massive seal for them and they are greeted by a dim lit room, save for bright lights shining through the imposing windows of a large testing chamber. The gate is sealed behind them; Sandalphon just heard the mechanism click loud and clear. How reassuring. The air is stuffy and dust tickles in his nose. It's quiet, save for the soft mumbling of Astrals. Lucilius paces over to a table at which a young Astral sits, taking notes. 
> 
> “Good day, Esther.”, Lucilius greets them with a nod of his head. “I see you've made the proper preparations.”
> 
> They jump to their feet immediately, their head bowing, “Y-yes, Sir!” Something seethes at the pit of Sandalphon’s stomach. They seem like they're barely his physical age, perhaps even younger. The Astrals train ‘em early, as it seems. “I have done as you told me. The specimen has been–”
> 
> Sandalphon decides its best for his sanity not to listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so with the last chapter being soft i was thinking that i should spice it up a lil bit so yall rnt mistaken abt where this whole thing is slowly but surely headed. also rating update just for this chapter and following ones :)
> 
> disclaimer: not proofread, lucilius is chaotic leaning bastard and peak awful on main, theres blood gore and violence partially described

Sandalphon sits in the shade, all alone. He hasn't seen Azazel nor Mugaro all day– though, he isn't worried. It has happened before that the angel had taken his child to a different archipelago, in need of a much needed change of scenery. He understand, and wishes he could join them, but Sandalphon can't bear the looks of disdain from other, higher ranking primals. The mere thought makes his skin crawl.

He leans back against the thick tree trunk behind him, looking up into the rich canopy. I like being alone, he tells himself, but it's not hard to tell that he misses Azazel, Mugaro, and Lucifer equally. His wings droop low as he sighs, fingers tangling into grass and ripping it out. He's bored, he's lonely, he's feeling kinda touch-starved (especially after his rendezvous with Lucifer a few days ago; sadly they had to leave it at that for now); everything seems to be working against him today.

“Here you are.” An all too familiar voice. Lucifer.

A wide smile stretches over his features and Sandalphon looks, hoping it really is him– but instead he looks into Lucilius’ sickly pale visage. The smile on his face fades immediately. Bummer. Lucilius crooks an eyebrow at him and he can feel a cold shiver running down his spine. He immediately remembers what Azazel told him. Don't let Lucilius see you like this lest he decides you're too mortal, he said.

“I require your assistance, Sandalphon.”, the Astral says through gritted teeth. It seems that this hurts his pride, having to ask a lowly creature like him for help. “Follow me.”

Sandalphon doesn't hesitate, lest Lucilius decides that his wings make a formidable trophy on his wall. The Astral begins to walk right away, the angel following suit, but pacing behind him with great respect. They're not equals; walking next to Lucilius would be an easy way to catch oneself a free pass to death, so the primarch is being as careful as he can be. They walk and walk, past the cliff where the children play– usually. It's dead quiet right now. Eerily so. It's an especially deafening kind of silence. Not a soul is to be seen, not on the horizon, nor upon the pillars and roofs across the area. It seems as if he's the only left and he's following Lucilius, who isn't known for his moral practices and treatment. The circumstances cause another shiver to run down his back. Where is everyone?

Soon they reach one of the bigger complexes, built with fine marble, just like every single other Astral architecture project. Lucilius pushes the door open and Sandalphon follows closely.

Inside, it's rather busy. The voices of Astrals and a few angels alike echo through the lengthy entrance hall. Some rush across, some haste to the end of the corridor. In the middle of the large hall sit tall and equally wide glass cylinders, reaching up to the ceiling. All of them contain something else: one of them is filled with water, which has colorful fish and a small, winged serpent, its blue scales shining bright in the light, another one has small platforms of moss growing along artificial steps that were placed along the glass walls, harboring many different types of butterflies, all of them unique in color and shape. But the one that catches Sandalphon's eye in particular is one that contains a tree. He should be following Lucilius, but he can't stop himself from examining it closer.

It stands in full bloom, dark blue blossoms covered in dew, likely from the artificial watering in the ceiling. From the small vents, the scent of rich nectar wafts forth. A colorful bird rushes past the glass incredibly quick, its little wings flapping as if it was the only thing it was made to do. It settles on an especially large bloom, drinking the nectar from it with a long beak. Suddenly, the flower twitches, scaring the bird away. At that moment, Sandalphon notices what's so important about this miniature biome. A little girl sleeps peacefully embedded in the tree, roots and branches curling around her protectively. The pretty flower seems to be part of her, growing from the top of her head like a crown.

Is this an existence worth living, he wonders, to be exhibited like a piece of art, for all to see?

“This is a pygmy Yggdrasil that one of my students created.”, Lucilius explains with pride.

Sandalphon can't help but startle– the Astral always moves around in near complete silence, making it hard not to be frightened when he suddenly appears seemingly out of thin air (at least it seems that way when you haven't been paying attention).

Lucilius clears his throat. “Anyway, we have no time to spare. Come.”

And that Sandalphon does, trails after him to the back of the entrance hall which ends in a large iron gate. Guards open the massive seal for them and they are greeted by a dim lit room, save for bright lights shining through the imposing windows of a large testing chamber. The gate is sealed behind them; Sandalphon just heard the mechanism click loud and clear. How reassuring. The large square chamber is right at the middle of this massive room, set deep into the archipelago. All four sides have a front of thick glass, and across the pit, Sandalphon can make out the vague outlines of more Astrals. The air is stuffy and dust tickles in his nose. It's quiet, save for the soft mumbling of Astrals. Lucilius paces over to one side that has a table at which a young Astral sits, taking notes.

“Good day, Esther.”, Lucilius greets them with a nod of his head. “I see you've made the proper preparations.”

They jump to their feet immediately, their head bowing, “Y-yes, Sir!” Something seethes at the pit of Sandalphon’s stomach. They seem like they're barely his physical age, perhaps even younger. The Astrals train ‘em early, as it seems. “I have done as you told me. The specimen has been–”

Sandalphon decides its best for his sanity not to listen. Instead he looks through the glass. From this angle, one has a perfect over the happenings that take place below. The flooring and walls are padded with soft cushions, some of them torn up and stained in a disgusting brown hue. They're sick, the fucking lot of them. The Astrals are likely getting personal enjoyment from spectacles like this. He steps close to the glass out of morbid curiosity and tries to get a better look into the corners– and wishes he hadn't.

In one of them cowers a familiar figure, usually so large and imposing, but now reduced to a bundle with their wings curled around themselves. His eyes widen. Cold sweat builds.

“–I'm awestruck by how quickly you learn, my dear Esther. Azazel is by no means an easy case to deal with. You remain the best of my class.”, Lucilius praises and he actually seems alive for a split moment.

“Oh, no! You flatter me, Master Lucilius.”, Esther replies, a hint of pink dusting their cheekbones. “I have taken your advice and administered three forty-volt shocks to agitate the specimen before the experiment; it was quite remarkable how vulnerable it became afterward.”

“What are you going to do to him?” Words break from Sandalphon's mouth on their own. His eyes are still widened as he looks at the two of them. Esther actually has to look away from how intense the angel's stare is, but Lucilius keeps eye contact.

“You shall see soon enough.”, Lucilius growls, “Anyway, I have a few questions for you regarding the specimen, which is the reason why I have asked you to join me.”

Sandalphon swallows the thick lump in his throat.

“Esther, tell them to bring the dummies in.”, he tells the young Astral, without even looking at them.

“Yes, o-of course.” They nod again and haste down a flight of stairs that likely leads into the lower level of this wretched complex.

Lucilius waits until Esther is out of earshot before he begins to speak anew, “Well, Sandalphon.” Disdain lies in his words, heavy like pure lead. “We shall begin then.”

At that moment, there's movement in the arena below. A gate opens and five white-haired replicas enter the scene, two of them holding Mugaro in their grasp, who struggles with all they have. Oh no. No, no, no. Even from his current position and through thick glass, Sandalphon can feel hostility radiating off Azazel. Anxiously, he watches on as one of the replicas appears to speak to the cowering angel. Mugaro only seems to struggle more and more and more with each passing second, biting the arms holding them still and kicking at the replicas’ legs. They open their mouth to scream, enough to cause the dummies to flinch, likely at how high their voice is. The primarch and the rest of the audience hear nothing of the ongoings down there; the glass is too thick.

“–Sandalphon.”, grunts Lucilius, “Pay attention. It's only three questions.”

The primarch flinches and turns to face Lucilius, bowing his head apologetically, “Could you repeat your first question?”

“Would you say that there is a bond between the specimen and the dummy?”, the Astral says as he holds a pen ready to scribble notes onto a small notepad.

The dummy– Mugaro? The whole situation causes goose bumps to spread all over his form uncontrollably. They're no more than a dummy. A mere asset, to be used for social experiments and god knows what else. He knew from the goddamn beginning that they were left alive for a purpose, but over time he had become hopeful– and blissfully ignorant of Lucilius’ utterly methodical behavior. And he knows, he needs to answer truthfully, or else the Astral will not take kindly to his insolence.

“Yes.”, Sandalphon replies obediently, but that's all Lucilius gets.

The Astral scribbles something down in unintelligible handwriting, and then continues, “Has the specimen shown aggression toward the dummy at any point?”

“No.” The primarch stiffens, doesn't look at Lucilius as he watches the scene below but still listens to the researcher with half an ear.

For now, the subjects are only yelling at one another for now, but Azazel had gotten up, all four wings spread and bristled as much as they can be. The replicas seem fearful, shrinking beneath a threat display that imposing. Mugaro screams anew, and this time, their gaze fixates on Sandalphon. Their tear-filled eyes rip a hole right into his middle. He's nauseous; He'd love to spew all over Lucilius’ feet. His visage pales and fists clench at his side, trembling harshly. He can't do anything about this. Should he risk it? Lunge at Lucilius and all those Astrals that are busy licking his boots? No, he thinks. It seems like the right thing to do, but what worth will it be to die screaming without having changed a fucking thing, overran by a force none can fathom?

“Would you consider the specimen and the dummy ‘inseparable’?”, Lucilius speaks, sounding as if lost in thought. He's watching, too. But there is no nausea or disgust, only admiration, awe.

“Yes.” Sandalphon fights with the lump in his throat still.

Azazel manages to threaten the replicas enough for them to let go of Mugaro. They run behind the angel, where they're safe, spared of further cruelties from Astrals and their creations. Sandalphon thinks he can breathe right again, that it's over, that the results Lucilius has gotten satisfy his needs for wisdom of the fragile psyche his creation possesses. But no such luck.

Instead, all hell breaks loose.

Fresh blood splatters, reaching up to the glass front where Sandalphon stands, sparing him of having to witness the happenings. When there were five cores earlier, he can only sense four now. In spite of the sturdy construction shielding the audience from the situation inside the chamber, he can faintly hear Azazel scream utter, bloody murder in a fit of unfathomable wrath. He has always been right. Azazel is capable of unspeakable violence, but simply chooses not to. But the separation from Mugaro, their distress, the pain from the electrical shocks to aggravate him even further– all are factors that have driven him to do this. Sandalphon has to turn away, pressing his hand over his mouth. Despite the blood blocking his view, bile rises in his throat. He can feel the cores of the dummies pulse frantically. They're worthless assets, mere stepping stones in Lucilius’ path to whatever wisdom he wishes to achieve, but dummy or not, they're afraid. They're deadly afraid. A second core stops pulsing, taking its last few erratic attempts to survive.

“Look, Sandalphon.”, Lucilius hums softly, taking a strong grip of the primarch’s hair, forcing him close to the clean glass, forcing him to see what Azazel has done to those poor dummies. “He's beautiful, don't you think?”

The mere sight of the sheer gore and faintly glowing core fragments scattered among it make him flinch reflexively.

“No, pl-please, I d-don't–”, Sandalphon whimpers, tears trailing down his face freely as he squeezes his eyes shut with all his might.

“Ah, I see.”, the Astral muses, “It was foolish of me to think a lesser angel like you would understand my craft. You have not the faintest idea of what you are missing out on.” There's an audible tremor in his voice; primal lust, no doubt about it.

Sandalphon makes the mistake of opening his eyes, just for a split moment. There's nothing left of the dummies, only scattered parts, torn to bits and pieces by a deeply enraged being, that is now cradling his young, shielding their eyes so they mustn't see more than they already have. Just that glimpse of the scene is enough to cause his entire body to falter, collapsing against the glass screen.

“Cretin.”, is the last thing he hears from Lucilius before he loses consciousness.

  
**____________________________________**

  
When he finally wakes again it's violent, has him shaking, causing the metal frame bed creak beneath him. He sees it still, he sees it all before his very eyes in visceral detail. Cold sweat haunts him, along with more violent shivers. Disoriented, Sandalphon looks around to see walls of pure white, this row of beds being the one thing this barren room harbors. An infirmary.

He lets himself fall back into bed, his heart racing in his chest. It all seems like a dream. An awful, awful dream. And he dearly wishes it was that way. Sandalphon knows the Astrals' cruelty, has felt it himself, but it still shakes him to his very core. Hands are brought to his face, rubbing at the skin, as he takes deep breaths in order to calm himself.

"Sandafonn–", comes the little whisper from beside him.

His head turns to the bed next to his own and he sees Mugaro, barely able to be seen because Azazel rests behind them, a large wing protectively draped over their small frame. He sleeps tight, snoring quietly. They must've hosed them down, given them new clothes, because there's no trace of blood left on either. But Sandalphon can smell it.

"I'm so sorry.", the primarch can barely bite back those pesky tears of his, "I should've done something."

He speaks to them although they can't hear. To his surprise they follow his words attentively, focused on his lips. Mugaro appears to be reading them. Eventually, after piecing together what Sandalphon had said, the young angel shakes their head, "–Is– is ogey." They still have great difficulties with speaking, despite of Azazel's teachings. If only there was another way for them to communicate without their hearing.

Small fangs are bared at Sandalphon in a wide smile. Mugaro always seems to be able to smile, no matter how bad their situation is. He envies them. The first painfully hot tears trickle down his face and Mugaro reaches out for him. Their beds stand rather close, so the primarch follows their example and extends an arm for their hand. He grips it tight, not able to stop himself from sniffling.

"Don't blame yourself.", Azazel murmurs all drowsy, a single eye cracked open to look at Sandalphon.

"Quiet.", the primarch bites back, not able to sound even vaguely threatening any longer, "It's my fault."

Azazel leaves it at that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “–Azazel?”, the primarch begins, with worry in his tone, “Where'd you get that?”
> 
> “From the market, of course.”, Azazel replies, as if it was matter of fact like that, “Mugaro was hungry, so I stole it.”
> 
> “Do you understand what consequences this could have for us?”, Sandalphon hisses, his wings and even his hair bristling noticeably.
> 
> “Sandalphon. The Astrals are keeping us as their lab rats.”, the angel begins firmly, “This is a considerably small price for our rather forced obedience and a good half of my sanity.” 
> 
> “Don't discard your mora–”
> 
> “Morals? Do tell, how can one compare stealing out of need and experiments out of morbid curiosity?”, Azazel sneers in an unusually mean-spirited way, “Lecture me naught of morals, Sandalphon, when you have committed the sodom above all.” No doubt about it, he's talking about his relationship with Lucifer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothing much happens in this chapter except that sandy realizes that everything's slowly going to shit
> 
> disclaimer: no proof reading, a lot of stuff happens, it's very hot out and sandy passes out bc he's stoopit

His leg swings idly as it hangs off his bunk. Summer has finally reached its peak, the sun burning down onto all in its wake at full force– making Azazel, Mugaro, and Sandalphon spend their day inside. They were given a small room with two bunk beds not too long ago; Lucifer had managed to convince Lucilius of giving them a place to live, rather than have them sleep outside all the time. It's a sparsely furnished room, you can barely even call it decorated– yet, it feels way homier than any room in the living complex. 

At the opposite wall, stands the other bed. On the top bunk sleeps Azazel, sprawled out on his stomach and with his tail curling around his own leg. The bottom one belongs to Mugaro who sits in the corner that's farthest away from any and all sunlight, occupied with a book. Azazel is undressed down to his garments because that's the only proper way to live with this farce of season as it seems, while Mugaro has taken the liberty of wearing a light dress. 

Sandalphon wishes he had followed their example, but… he'd rather not expose himself. Lucilius’ countless procedures and mean-spirited teasings have made him feel like the ugly duckling from one of those Mortals’ tales. And so, he decides to suffer in his baggy clothes that are rather meant for the colder times of the year than hot temperatures. 

A sigh follows. He swings off his bed. Azazel doesn't wake, doesn't even grunt; he keeps sleeping like a rock, even after the noise he just made. Even after what had transpired at the research center. Sometimes it seems that it all had traumatized Sandalphon more than it did Mugaro and Azazel. The mere recollection makes Sandalphon shiver. Lucilius created a natural born killer that stands at his beck and call, all crowned with an easy way to provoke them. What if… what if he's next? What if Lucilius puts him into the chamber together with Azazel? Panic immediately spreads through him and he pales, white as a sheet. 

“Sanndafonn–?”, Mugaro says as they scoot to the edge of their bed, head tilting at the primarch. 

“I-I'm fine.”, he says slowly so that they can read his lips properly, “I need some fresh air.”

And with that he rushes to the door, and closes it behind himself quietly once in the hall. Since all the Astrals use to build is stone, it's usually quite cold inside their buildings, making for a perfect place to spend the summer. He brushes his sweat clad hair back as he walks and accidentally bumps into someone. Instinctively , he braces for any and all impact that shall come from the Astral, but nothing follows. Instead, he looks up into a familiar face. 

“Sandalphon.”, Lucifer says, a subtle smile pulling at his lips. 

He's speechless. No words come to the primarch and his first reaction is to, despite the unbearable heat, hug Lucifer tightly, albeit the embrace only lasts a moment due to said heat. 

“What are you doing here?”, Sandalphon asks, although his excitement is only conveyed through his tone of voice. 

“I wanted to visit you.”, he replies with a whisper, turning around to check if they're alone before gently brushing the angel's sweaty hair out of his face. “Our meeting during the festival night wouldn't leave my thoughts ever since we had parted.” He takes one of Sandalphon’s hands into his, like he did during that night, and the primarch notices that his hands are soothingly cold, even in this awful weather. “I feel drawn to you more than ever, my dearest Sandalphon.” Lucifer keeps his voice low, very well aware that Lucilius wouldn't take kindly to Sandalphon, if he were to find out about their liaison.

The statement churns his stomach, but in a good way. His gaze flicks to their joined hands. If only there were words to describe what he feels. If only he could show Lucifer how important he is to him. It seems that he had driven himself into a corner, unable to say or do anything. 

“Have I said something wrong?”, Lucifer asks with worry in his tone. 

“No, of course not.”, Sandalphon replies while shaking his head, “I… I don't know what to say, that's all.” He trails off anew, struggles with his words. ”I'm… I’m so happy to be here with you, Lucifer.” A short pause. “The words that we use simply aren't enough to accurately describe what I feel for you.”

“Azazel told me that sometimes it's best to say nothing at all.”, Lucifer says, a soft chuckle leaving him, “Either way, let us go outside.” Then, he lowers his voice anew, “I don't feel comfortable speaking to you like this among Astrals.”

Sandalphon simply nods and Lucifer already begins to pull him forward, their hands still gripping one another tight. But then, after only a meter or two, the two of them stop. At the end of the spacious corridor stands a well-known face. Their hands part at once, in the hope that their hand-holding had gone unnoticed. 

“Ah, Lucifer.”, Lucilius says as he walks towards them, “I was looking for you.”

“My apologies for the inconvenience.”, Lucifer murmurs, his head bowing, “What can I do for you?”

“I have something to discuss with you. It is about the recent testing.”, the Astral states, “The results are marvelous and I want you to see them with your own eyes.” There's an ever so subtle glint in his eyes, and it chases a shiver down Sandalphon's back. There's only one specific test that he could be talking about, one that he is so infatuated with. Even now, despite Lucilius’ usual emotionless visage, Sandalphon vividly remembers the sickeningly twisted demeanor stretched across his expression. 

The supreme primarch doesn't react. For several moments. 

Lucilius raises his eyebrow at him, “Why are you hesitating, Lucifer?” Seemingly automatic, his gaze flicks to Sandalphon, slanted pupils accompanied with cold blue irises stabbing right through him as if he wasn't even there. 

Oh god, oh god, oh god, don't say anything. He keeps himself from swallowing the lump in his throat. 

“The heat is getting to me, Lucilius.”, Lucifer finally replies, an authentic fake smile plastered across his face. 

“Hm, I remember making you more durable than this.”, the Astral ponders with a hand raised to his chin, “Ah, well– this is trivial garbage. Follow me. My time is valuable.” 

And without a second thought, Lucifer trails after him, leaving Sandalphon to himself. Soon, they are out of sight and earshot. 

He feels faint. Suddenly he sees the gore and scattered remains before his very eyes again, pressing a hand over his mouth in fear that he might just vomit. Goosebumps spread. He shakes. His head feels fogged up and the heat is only intensified by this fit of panic, sweat building rapidly. 

Sandalphon barely manages to get back into his shared room before his legs give in. 

 

 

________________

 

 

When his eyes flutter open anew, his head immediately starts hurting, a stinging that goes right through his forehead. A hand is brought up to touch it, to check if it's still intact since his head feels like it was split open, and his fingers press into a wet rag. He sits up (perhaps a little too fast because another sharp pang follows and causes him to cringe) and looks down his own form– he was undressed to his garments. The primarch is so exhausted that he can't even bring himself to care at this moment. 

Loud clattering grates on his eardrums and he notices the small figure kneeling in the middle of the room. It's Mugaro, washing his robes with a washboard and a large bucket. Mildly discordant humming can be hears as they clean the clothes thoroughly, before getting up and hanging them next to more fabric from a line, spanning from one bunk bed to the other. Then, they turn and notice him eventually. 

“Sanndafonn–”, they speak before he can. Quickly, Mugaro gets a full glass bottle from beneath the bed, opening it and then holding it out to him. “Asa sad dring a lot! Sanndafonn don’ dring enuff!” They gesticulate wildly with their free hand, forming signs of which he has no idea of what they could mean. “Dum’!” They pout at him, brows furrowed. 

He's pretty sure they just called him dumb. Well, he's gotta admit: they're right.

“Fine–”, he growls before taking the bottle and drinking as fast as his body lets him, till it's empty. He exhales deeply as he looks around, and then asks, “Where's Azazel?”

“Out.”, they press forth as clear as they can, “Food.” 

Just the mere mention of something edible makes Sandalphon's stomach growl. He could definitely use something. And the primarch seems to be in luck, he finds, considering he can already hear hasty footsteps rushing down the corridor. Not a moment later, the door opens and Azazel joins them, quickly shutting the door behind him. He carries a quite heavy looking bag upon his back, which is set down with a loud thump. He seems winded, wheezing as he tries to get the oxygen back that was stolen from him. 

“Oh, you're awake–”, Azazel observes, immediately ridding himself of his robes anew after having to wear them in public. “You were severely–” Cue a huff as he lifts the bag with great effort. “–dehydrated, so you passed out.” 

Sandalphon would've loved to pay attention to Azazel, but Mugaro is jumping up and down in front of him, their arms raised above their head in pursuit of his full bag. It's clear– the long sought after food is in there, and it's a lot, too. Where'd he– oh. When Azazel takes out an entire loaf of white bread and hands it to Mugaro (who eagerly begins to chow down), it occurs to him. 

“–Azazel?”, the primarch begins, with worry in his tone, “Where'd you get that?”

“From the market, of course.”, Azazel replies, as if it was matter of fact like that, “Mugaro was hungry, so I stole it.”

“Do you understand what consequences this could have for us?”, Sandalphon hisses, his wings and even his hair bristling noticeably.

“Sandalphon. The Astrals are keeping us as their lab rats.”, the angel begins firmly, “This is a considerably small price for our rather forced obedience and a good half of my sanity.” 

“Don't discard your mora–”

“Morals? Do tell, how can one compare stealing out of need and experiments out of morbid curiosity?”, Azazel sneers in an unusually mean-spirited way, “Lecture me naught of morals, Sandalphon, when you have committed the sodom above all.” No doubt about it, he's talking about his relationship with Lucifer. “Now, spare me of your lip and allow me to nurture my fledgling in peace.” 

Sandalphon remains quiet. His wings press close to his back, feathers quivering. Perhaps he should simply stop questioning Azazel's ways. The silence around them is louder than words could ever be, but it vanishes as fast as it came.

“My apologies.”, Azazel says, his head bowed, “I've been losing my temper a lot recently.” He shuffles close, dropping the bag before his feet. “Take what you want. Mugaro doesn't need that much.”

Sandalphon looks up into the face of a disturbed individual, deeply disturbed at themself more than anything. The testing has left its mark on him, without a doubt. It's true, his temper has been utterly insufferable since the experiment. Without another word, the angel climbs onto the top bunk, the bedding bulging subtly beneath his weight. The primarch doesn't like what he senses. It feels almost as if it did during the experiment; hostile, intimidated, fearful, all at once. 

Once Mugaro has completely demolished the entire loaf of bread they were given, they look around in search of Azazel until they notice him on the top bunk. “Papa?”, they ask, equal parts worried and curious. 

“Papa's alright, Mugaro.”

A more obvious lie couldn't have been spoken.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! (kudos + comments appreciated)


End file.
